Vacation anxiety

It's finally here: Come Monday, we leave for our vacation in Orlando, Florida. Going to visit Mickey. On the busiest theme-park week of the year. With a hyperactive boy and a whiney girl. On an airline so small I've never heard of it. With a stopover. Can you tell how much I'm looking forward to this carefree family getaway?

It'll be fine. The timeshare is nice. There's a lovely pool. Of course, I'll have to wear sweatpants while sitting by the pool so that my thighs don't scare the children, but I'm sure the temperature won't be higher than 90 or so. Maybe I can sweat off some of inches. Fun, fun, fun.

Last year, we didn't go on vacation at all. By the time I got around to making timeshare reservations for April, the place was booked. We moved in August, which pretty much cancelled our plans to go to California that month. So I haven't been on a plane in quite some time, which of course exponentially increases my anxiety. For a while, we thought about taking the train from New Jersey, and though it was less comfortable, less timely, and more expensive, I'm kind of regretting our decision against it.

But it'll be fine. Travelling with kids is never what you'd call relaxing, but we're bringing along our best friends to act as second-string parents, so maybe we'll get a break here and there. Certainly we couldn't have a more trying time than the first time we brought the kiddos to Orlando; our son started the week by hitting his face on the side of the bathtub and going to the hospital for stitches, and ended it by jumping in the deep end of the pool and almost drowning. Good times! If only the ER sold souvenir T-shirts.

We won't go there this time. It'll be fine. We'll navigate the endless lines. We'll withstand the Florida heat. We'll swim and sun and sightsee. Or maybe we'll just sit in the air-conditioned condo and watch "TV Land." Hey, relaxation's where you find it.